The Lesson Part Two
by May Burton
Summary: I adored Ham Atom's story so much and was heartbroken with the cliff hanger. I literally couldn't bear it. I've never written anything before so many many apologies if adding to someone else's work is rude or inappropriate. I mean no disrespect and my effort is borne of admiration for Ham's beautiful story. It gave me so much joy to read.


Navarre and Isabeau saw the glow in the sky long before they reached the blazing tavern. At first they thought little of the red flicker lighting up the distant sky, so intent were they on their quest. Then unease began to creep over them and they spurred their horses on towards the orange smudge of sky. Both had the same nagging thought forming in their minds, there was trouble ahead and Mouse attracted trouble. Isabeau glanced over to Navarre as they galloped and his mouth was a hard set line. She spurred Lilou on, her heart thudding in her chest and her thoughts wild and panic stricken, 'let their Mouse be fine, let this be nothing to do with him, please God let him live.'

As they got nearer to the ominous glow in the sky they began to hear the first roar and crackle of the fire. Crashes and shouts split the air. Another more constant sound could be heard as they rounded a stand of trees and first saw the inferno. Someone was screaming, a girl was screaming. The sound was desperate and unremitting. Someone had opened the stable doors and several horses, wild eyed with panic bolted past Navarre and Isabeau. Navarre swerved Goliath to avoid the terrified animals and leapt off of his back before he had even brought the great beast to a complete standstill. He pelted headlong towards the flaming tavern.

"Navarre!" shouted Isabeau but her words were lost in the noise of panic and burning and the screams of the girl. Isabeau brought Lilou to a halt, threw herself off and sprinted towards her husband. Navarre had reached the crowd of people gathered at the edge of the conflagration. The heat was blistering here and the noise was huge.

A young girl with dark hair was standing at the front of the crowd and pointing hysterically at the burning tavern. "There's a boy in there!" she was screaming, "he's still in there! A boy!" She turned suddenly and thrust an accusing finger at a man standing to her side. "He left him to die in there," she screamed. "He knocked him out and he's still in there!"

The man sneered and lashed out at the girl and she was was thrown backwards. Before she had even hit the floor Navarre was on the man. He grabbed him furiously by the front of his filthy clothes and drove him backwards "What boy?!" he snarled into his face. Isabeau reached the young girl on the floor and knelt down to comfort her. To the tavern owner it was as if the devil himself had risen up from hell to judge him. Furious blue eyes bored into him as Navarre thrust his face towards the corpulent and speechless man and repeated the question.

"WHAT? BOY?"

When it became apparent that the man was only going to gape stupidly and not answer Navarre shook the man violently and drove him further backwards. This seemed to snap the man out of his trance and he regained some of his senses.

"Never mind that upstart brat," he shouted, pushing back at Navarre, "look at my tavern! Look what that boy has done to my tavern!" Navarre's stomach dropped as the man's words became clear. He had seen Phillipe acting like an upstart brat in a tavern when he first set eyes on him. Phillipe had come to this tavern and done the same and now he was in that inferno. Unconscious, alone, probably already dead.

Navarre snarled like a wild animal and threw the man to the ground. He turned to his wife still kneeling on the ground with the stricken girl and said hollowly "Phillipe is in there." Isabeau stared helplessly at the towering figure of her husband. She knew instinctively what he was about to do next and also knew that she wasn't going to be fast enough to stop him. Navarre suddenly started forward towards the tavern. "No!" she shouted, rising to her feet and tried to reach out to grab him.

Phillipe's hands slipped once again and he slithered further down the increasingly hot chimney, scraping his hands and his back. He managed to stop himself but the heat below him had increased alarmingly. "Very funny Lord," he gasped, "very allegorical. The fires of hell, I understand." He took a few deep, ragged breaths, his hands were stinging and his chest felt tight and painful. "Climb to the light Mouse," he said, "but it's dark!" he continued with a slightly hysterical giggle, which he struggled to control. Eventually he stopped laughing and started coughing and gasping for breath. The chimney was filling with thick acrid smoke and Phillipe's climb was becoming slower and more laboured.

"Navarre, stop!" shouted Isabeau running towards him, trying to catch hold of him to stop him. He strode on, not hearing her, not looking at anything apart from the burning tavern. Orange flames played across his face and reflected in his pale stricken eyes. She managed to get one outstretched hand round a trailing piece of his cloak but it was wrenched immediately out of her hand and wasn't nearly enough to stop his forward momentum. "No!" she cried, "no Navarre, I can't lose you again!" But he was intent on his purpose and no force on earth could stop him. Not even the pleading cries of his love, who had stopped now, forced back by the blistering heat. She could only scream at his retreating back.

Phillipe tried to haul himself a little further up but couldn't do it. He couldn't see now and could only feel pain. "Lord," he choked out, "I can't do this, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." The stones under his burnt and bloodied hands started to vibrate. "Lord?" whispered Phillipe startled, "please don't be angry with me, I honestly tried my best, you know me, I..." he stopped as the vibration became an audible rumble, loud enough to be heard over the deafening fire. "Please," he whimpered, "not like this, not in the dark." But the rumble became a roar and the stones were coming apart in his hands. "Sorry!" he exclaimed instinctively, as if he were responsible for the fabric of the tavern falling apart around him. "I'll do better," he whispered, "I'll be a better person, I won't lie or steal or cheat or..." but his last word was drowned out as the chimney collapsed around him.

Navarre was pushing on through the nightmarish wall of heat when the first crashing split rent the air as the roof of the burning tavern lurched sideways and settled sizzling into a new unsteady angle. The crowd behind Navarre started to scream and flee as embers rained down on them. The tavern groaned as the roof slowly split into two and started collapsing in on itself with a hissing roar. Isabeau had managed to catch up with Navarre as he faltered in the face of the destruction being wrought in front of him. There was no way in now, no way to rescue Phillipe, the structure was settling in on itself with squeals and cracks. Isabeau ran to her husband and shoved him backwards as the whole building disintegrated with a crashing force which drove them both to the ground. Fire and debris rained down on them as they clutched one another. "No!" Navarre was shouting over and over, "no, no, no!"

Phillipe woke up slowly. He was comfortable and warm. He rolled over and sighed with happiness as he felt the soft feather mattress beneath him and ran his hands over the fine sheets. He nuzzled his head into the smooth sweet smelling pillow and breathed in the fresh morning air. Navarre must have opened a window so that Mouse could hear the birds singing and the trees gently rustling. Navarre was thoughtful like that. They all were, because they all loved him. They had told him so and it was true. All of it was true. He was loved and he loved them in return, even Imperius, who was annoying. He wondered what was for breakfast, sometimes there were eggs from the hens in the yard, or fruit from the trees in the orchard. Isabeau was teaching him how to collect honey from the hives without panicking and being stung. She had laughed at him the first time because he was so frightened and did it all wrong. But she was patient with him and now he could almost do it by himself. Honey was his favourite thing for breakfast. Honey and butter on thick bread. "You are getting fat little Mouse," Navarre had said one morning, reaching over the table and ruffling his hair, "it's a good job I don't need you to get back into the dungeons of Aquila now, you'd get stuck." Isabeau gasped and swatted Navarre's arm, "Navarre!" she scolded. "Ignore him Mouse," she said coming to stand behind him with her hands on his shoulders, "he's just jealous of you." Mouse blushed and grinned at the memory. Whatever they were having for breakfast was starting to smell good, it was wafting up the stairs and into his room. His belly rumbled. Actually it was starting to smell like someone was burning breakfast. It was probably Imperius the old fool. He could burn water. The burning smell was getting stronger. Maybe he should go down and help before Imperius burnt the kitchen down. He didn't think that Navarre would be very pleased about that. But he was too comfortable in bed, and besides it wouldn't be his fault. Let Imperius get in trouble for once. Now he thought he could smell smoke in his bedroom. He wondered why Imperius was burning breakfast in his bedroom. It was tickling his nose and starting to irritate his throat. He coughed slightly but that didn't seem to help, he moved his head to try and escape the smoke but it seemed to be everywhere. He groaned and tried to open his eyes but they were so heavy that he couldn't. He rolled onto his back and went to rub his eyes but only one of his arms seemed to be working. He supposed he was lying on the other one. The hand he did get to his eyes was gritty and made his eyes sting. He shifted in bed but the feather mattress didn't seem so comfortable anymore, it seemed lumpy and unyielding. The pillow had changed as well, it was as hard as stone. Phillipe opened his eyes and found that flames were lighting up a terrible sky and nearby people were screaming. Instead of being in heaven he was in hell.

Isabeau and Navarre stood together staring in disbelief at the scene in front of them. The fire had consumed the tavern with alarming speed. Where there had been a solid building was now just ruins. The fire was still hungrily burning the wood which was left. It looked like a great bonfire.

"This is my fault," Navarre was whispering in horror, "I drove him away and now he's dead."

"No, no," Isabeau was murmuring softly as tears slid silently down her cheeks, "you did all you could. We all did," but she wasn't sure that she was even convincing herself. The crowd had thinned now and they were practically alone. A group of kindly women had collected the hysterical girl and led her away. The tavern owner had made himself scarce shortly after confronting Navarre. He had started to worry that the boy had been somebody important after all, if such a well dressed lord was willing to come looking for him. He didn't want any trouble.

"We shouldn't have told him we loved him," said Navarre, "he wasn't used to it, it scared him off." Isabeau pulled him towards her and looked him in the eye. "He was the truest friend we ever had," she said, her voice faltering, "why wouldn't we tell him we loved him? We wanted to..." she stopped and tried to control herself, "we wanted to make him happy, make him feel wanted. He was so, so...alone," she started crying openly now, unable to even control her own grief, let alone comfort him. She tailed off sobbing and Navarre took her in his arms. His eyes were glassy as he gazed over her head at the smouldering ruins which contained the bravest little thief he had ever met.

After Isabeau had cried herself out on his chest, Navarre led her further away from the tavern and carefully sat her on the ground. Taking off his cloak and pulling it round both of them, he sat down next to her and began the grim vigil they both knew that they would have to keep until dawn came and they could see if anything of their little Mouse could be recovered.

Phillipe was disappointed, he knew that stealing was a sin, enough people had beaten that lesson into him, but he thought that God understood that he hadn't had any other choice. Apparently their friendship meant nothing. He supposed he would have to get up and face the demons which were going to torment him for eternity. He wasn't keen, he'd rather run away but he had an idea that running away in hell wasn't an option. Best to move and see what was what. Maybe he could sweet talk Satan into going easy on him. He tried to sit up, which was a mistake. White hot pain shot up his left arm and he collapsed backwards again, gasping for breath. He retched, started to cough and swayed towards unconsciousness. The pain was immense and unyielding. His whole body was consumed with it and there was nowhere to go to escape it. Very slowly and gradually it subsided and he lay panting in the hard rubble. His head was hot and painful and a thin sheen of clammy sweat was clinging to his brow. In the distance thunder rumbled ominously. He supposed the demons would come soon. They must know he was there by now. "Lord," he whispered huskily, barely making a sound, "I'm so sorry. I know you warned me and I didn't listen. I never listen." A hot tear escaped the edge of his eye and ran down into his ear. "I'm so hot," he mumbled quietly, then he started to giggle, "so hot in hell. Did you think it would be cold, stupid Mouse?" he gasped through giggles which descended quickly into sobs. He lay desperate and alone, bitterly mourning all that he could have had and had so carelessly thrown away as tears wracked his body. Every bit of him hurt. He must have slipped into unconsciousness for a while because the next time he opened his eyes, the sky was different. The flickering of the hellish flames had been replaced by dark looming clouds. Thunder rumbled again, nearer now and a raindrop hit him squarely in the forehead. Another joined it and ran into his eye, which was puffy and sore from crying, "Thank you Lord," mumbled Phillipe from a long way off, "that's very refreshing." The rain pattered down on his upturned face and he didn't have the chance to even wonder why it was raining in hell.

Navarre drew his cloak over their heads as the rain started to fall. Neither of them had said a word for some time, both lost in their own private misery. Isabeau's tears had subsided, she felt empty and was unable to cry anymore. She remembered the first time she had set eyes on Phillipe trying desperately to load a crossbow to kill the wolf and then warning her against going out there with the creature. Trying to be brave and noble in his rags, his wide brown eyes shining in the moonlight at the wonder of what he was witnessing.

Navarre knew that this was all his fault, it didn't matter what Isabeau might try and persuade him. How arrogant had he been only yesterday when he thought that his life was perfect. That's what hope did, it lulled you and then it crushed you. Nothing was ever perfect. It was better to have a heart of stone than to be hurt like this. But then Isabeau stirred next to him and she was warm and she was real. A thing he had wanted more than life itself for two years was now real. Real, living, breathing human flesh was next to him. He hadn't forced the boy to leave, he had told him he wanted him to stay, he couldn't very well lock the boy up if it wasn't what he really wanted. Some people were beyond help.

The rain was harder now and in the faint light Navarre could see that the small fires which had been burning at intervals in the ruins were being extinguished. Smoke still hung in the air but the steady rain was damping down the cinders in the hulking wreck.

"Stay here," he said to Isabeau as he rose to his feet and put the cloak over her.

"No," she said starting to rise, "I'm coming with you."

"Please Isabeau," he said, "I'm just going to look. I want you to stay here. I won't be long."

Isabeau pulled her knees to her chest and nodded, the tears starting to silently course down her cheeks again. She didn't want to see him, not ruined and burnt. She wanted to remember the lively, cheeky boy, always ready with a smile or a joke. The life force behind the eyes, the youthful agility, she couldn't bear to think of that gone, and in such a dreadful manner.

Navarre walked towards the tavern. He had seen death, he had seen war and suffering, disease and starvation, but on this short journey his legs shook and his heart thumped. He tried to move with an authority he didn't feel so that he wouldn't worry Isabeau. He reached the tavern and stopped, the rain was thumping down now, bouncing off of the charred remains. He steeled himself and stepped up onto the rubble. The going was treacherous and grim, signs of the once lively tavern were everywhere. Collapsed and blackened tables impeded his way, tankards lay strewn and crushed in the devastation. He tentatively moved some of the debris aside hoping to find any sign of Phillipe, but all was unrecognisable and terrible. Charred and sodden objects, impossible to identify were scattered everywhere. The collapse of the roof had flattened much of the tavern, leaving him to climb helplessly over heaps of stinking rubble. He could see no way of identifying anyone in this hell but he was not leaving here without a body to bury. To bury next to Élie in the frozen ground. He clutched at his eyes suddenly and a shudder went through his body. God was mocking him for leaving the shovel behind on the frozen ground. He had tempted fate and this had been his reward. A house of death and destruction. He gasped out his pain and lowered his head to stare, unseeing at the scorched remains underfoot. His vision cleared suddenly and he dropped into a crouch as something unusual caught his eye. A saturated oblong object was lying just under the edge of a sprawled table. It looked familiar but Navarre couldn't for a second think why. He tentatively picked up the soggy thing and stood with shock and horror dawning. It was a book, a familiar, beautiful book, made grotesque by fire and water, charred and bloated like a drowned body. He dropped it back into the ruins in disgust, all hope now extinguished. They would not now be returning home to find Mouse safe in bed with Imperius nagging and fussing around him. All hope was gone. He dropped to his knees in the filth howling in pain.

Phillipe stirred fitfully in his sleep and frowned, the demons would be here soon, he could hear them, but he wasn't afraid.

Isabeau heard as well and rushed into the tavern, tripping and sliding over piles of rubble and charred wood until she came upon Navarre kneeling amongst the destruction with a burnt book clutched to his face. "Oh my love," she cried, dropping to her knees to hold him.

When they felt able they resumed their terrible search for what remained of their friend and saviour. The rain was easing and the sky brightening but they searched in vain. Over and over they combed the tavern for any sign of Mouse but they could find nothing. "Maybe he wasn't here," said Isabeau.

"The book was here," said Navarre grimly, not lifting his head from examining the charred remains of the tavern.

"He might have left," said Isabeau, "when the fire started."

"The girl said he was unconscious," said Navarre without emotion. "Navarre," said Isabeau with a hitch in her voice "there's nothing to find."

"I know," said Navarre and finally looked up. His glacial eyes were blank and hard. "We should go home."

They collected the horses in the grey dawn light and led them away and around the tavern in silence. As they went round the corner they found that the rear of the tavern was now impassable and they were forced to come to a halt. It looked as though the chimney had toppled over outwards and ended up behind the tavern in a slew of stones and rubble. Navarre sighed and started to turn Goliath around but Isabeau was rooted to the spot, staring wide eyed at the fallen stones.

"Navarre," she whispered hoarsely, the tears beginning to fall again. Navarre looked at her quizzically and then followed her horrified stare to the tumbled stonework, but he could only see grey stones and blackened wood.

"What...?" he started to say, but Isabeau had dropped Lilou's reins and was stumbling forward towards the fall of rock. Navarre let go of Goliath and started after her, and that's when he finally saw. A pale arm was poking out from the rubble, a small skinny thing splayed on the dirty ground. Navarre let out a cry and overtook Isabeau. Phillipe was lying broken and still amongst the rubble. His head was turned to one side and the rain had plastered his hair to his scalp. He looked like he was asleep. No signs of soot or dirt marked him. The rain had washed him clean. He was a sleeping child.

Isabeau sunk to her knees by his outstretched arm and took his hand in hers. She started to sob as she raised his hand to her lips and then pressed it to her face. Navarre stood like a statue staring down at the small figure, not believing that it had come to this. Was his whole life cursed? First Élie and now Phillipe. He crouched and started to clear the rubble from Phillipe's legs, he gently took Phillipe's chin in his hand and straightened his head. Phillipe's left arm was twisted horribly underneath him and Navarre reached to straighten it out. At first Navarre thought that the small stir was his imagination, wishful thinking, his eyes playing tricks, but when he touched the arm again Phillipe let out an almost imperceptible groan. Navarre pulled back frowning. Isabeau was still clutching Phillipe's right hand and sobbing quietly.

"Isabeau!" Navarre whispered, his voice coming from far away. He reached out and touched the peaceful face again, stroking the smooth cheek. Phillipe's eyelids fluttered.

"Isabeau!" Navarre repeated louder, "Phillipe!"

Isabeau finally looked up at her husband's face, and following his gaze, down at Mouse's. She let out a small cry as Phillipe's eyelids fluttered again. "He's alive!" she cried. "Is he?" she added immediately, shocked and confused. Navarre took Phillipe's face in both of his big hands, "Mouse!" he hissed urgently, "Mouse!"

Phillipe flinched as the pain in his arm stabbed at him again, it had died down as he had slipped peacefully into unconsciousness but now it was like a hot knife jabbing him. He wanted to go back to sleep where there was no pain. But now the pain stabbed again and he tried to open his sore and swollen eyes but the light hurt him and he shut them tight again. He started to drift away and it was wonderful, and calm and soothing, like cool water on a burn. The pain jabbed him again and his eyes flew open. One of the demons was right in his face staring at him and shouting. It's face was wild and blackened. Mouse knew he should be scared but the bliss was pulling him down again. "Hello demon," he mumbled faintly. Another demon looked over the demon's shoulder. This one was smaller but still wild eyed and streaked with black. "Demons," he corrected himself, "hello demons," he smiled and his eyes fluttered shut again.

"Phillipe Gaston!" Navarre shouted angrily, shaking Phillipe's head in his hands.

"Navarre!" Isabeau gasped, shocked at his roughness.

"He can't go to sleep," said Navarre, "he's very cold but he isn't shivering. He has to stay awake, we need to get him up." Navarre put his hands under Phillipe's armpits and hauled him to his feet. Phillipe screamed in pain and collapsed into Navarre's arms. Navarre shifted the dead weight of the boy so that he was no longer touching his left arm.

"The arm is broken I think," he said to Isabeau who was standing, white faced, with her hands clutched to her mouth, "we need to get him home, but we have to get him warm and keep him awake. Can you hold him round the waist without touching his arm do you think?"

Isabeau ducked under Mouse's dangling left arm and put her arms gently round his middle. They started to half drag him towards the horses. "Phillipe Gaston!" Navarre roared, "wake up and move your feet." Phillipe's sagging head snapped up and he groaned.

"Move your feet boy!" Navarre continued to berate him until Phillipe reluctantly shuffled his feet forward. They slowly made their way towards Goliath and Lilou, with Phillipe stumbling and Navarre speaking sharply to him with every plodding step. Once they arrived beside Goliath, Navarre ducked out from under Phillipe's right arm and pushed the boy until his back was pinned to the saddle. "Do you have him?" he asked Isabeau. She nodded grimly, Phillipe was slight but she tightened her arms round him just in case. Navarre took his water bottle from his saddle and uncorked it. He leant towards Phillipe and patted his cheek, not entirely gently, "wake up!" he instructed. Phillipe attempted to open his drooping eyes which was good enough for Navarre. He put his hand either side of the boy's mouth and squeezed it open as he pushed his head back. Navarre dribbled water into Phillipe's mouth until he started to choke. Navarre pulled back and let Phillipe get his breath. When Phillipe's head started to droop again, Navarre took a fistful of the boy's hair and hauled his head up again. "More water," said Navarre, dribbling some more into the gaping mouth. Phillipe seemed to take some of this down and keep it down. "Still all right with him?" he asked Isabeau. She nodded quickly, keen for Navarre to continue his ministrations. Navarre rooted about in his saddlebag and brought out a shirt. He folded it and put it around Phillipe's neck. "This is going to hurt him," he said to Isabeau, "I'll try my best not to, but he might fall."

"I've got him," said Isabeau. Her filthy, tear stained face was resolute and Navarre had never loved her more.

He gently took hold of Phillipe's left elbow and carefully bent his arm. Phillipe cried out and his knees buckled, but Isabeau had him and he didn't fall. "I'm so sorry Mouse," said Navarre, "but we need to bind it to travel, and we need to get home." He looped the shirt around the bent arm and tied it to the end round Phillipe's neck. Phillipe whimpered piteously but let Navarre fashion the sling and move his wounded arm nearer to his body. Navarre fished in the saddlebag again and brought out a blanket. He managed to wrap it around Phillipe's thin shoulders with Isabeau's help.

Phillipe knew that the demons would torment him, he just didn't realise how much it would hurt. He thought he was beyond hurt, but he was wrong.

"I don't know how to get him onto the horse," said Navarre. Not that long ago he'd scooped a terrified Phillipe up onto his saddle and slung him over it like a sack. "I don't think I can lift him without touching the arm."

"We can do it together," said Isabeau, "we have to."

In the end it was easier than Navarre had feared. The boy was so light that he could lift him without disturbing the bound arm too badly whilst Isabeau steadied him. Navarre climbed up behind him and wrapped him in his great cloak. He shook the boy gently, "We're going home now Phillipe," he said, "and I need you to try not to sleep. Do you understand me?" He leant forward hoping for a reply and his mouth twitched into a slight smile when he got one. "What did he say?" Isabeau asked as she came alongside on Lilou. "I think he just called me a demon," said Navarre wryly.

The journey home was slow and painful. Phillipe whimpered in pain at every bump in the road. Goliath seemed to sense that his passenger was in distress and sidestepped carefully around obstacles and ruts. Navarre desperately wanted to go faster so that they could get Phillipe to Imperius but he knew that any more speed might damage the boy beyond repair. He hoped it was only the arm, he hadn't had a chance to inspect Phillipe's body, but aside from cuts and bruises there didn't seem to be any obvious blood. The head nodding in front of him was clammy and hot and Navarre didn't doubt that the fever had returned. He just prayed they could get him home before it was too late. Phillipe slipped sideways and Navarre steadied him. "Phillipe!" he barked, "stay awake." Isabeau looked over with concern. "Please hang on Mouse," she pleaded, "we're nearly home."

Phillipe could hear the demons talking but their voices were muffled and far away. They were taking him somewhere. To see Satan he supposed. He vaguely remembered a curse he had once known about and he shivered. He supposed that Satan was going to be very angry that he had helped to break that curse. "Sorry," he mumbled. "It was an accident. Please don't roast me alive."

"What's he saying?" asked Isabeau with a frown.

"Something about being roasted alive," said Navarre.

"Oh my God," said Isabeau, "what was he even doing there?"

"I fully intend to ask him as soon as he's better," said Navarre, his face darkening.

The day continued to brighten and the awful journey continued. By the time the manor came into sight, they were exhausted. Phillipe's whimpers were fainter now and Navarre was having trouble holding him onto the horse. Isabeau galloped onwards as the manor drew nearer to alert Imperius. The old man had clearly not slept and rushed out as he saw Isabeau approaching. "What's happened?" he asked breathlessly, "You look awful, have you been in a fire? Where's Navarre? Did you find Phillipe?"

"Phillipe is very injured," Isabeau said quickly, dismounting. "Navarre has him. His arm is broken and the fever's back."

"What?" cried Imperius, "How? What has the fool of a boy done now?"

"We must prepare," said Isabeau, "I'll put some water on to boil."

"You should rest child," said Imperius with concern, "you look terrible."

"No," said Isabeau, "we can't lose him. He has to live. We're in your hands now father."

Phillipe woke up slowly. He was comfortable and warm. A pleasant breeze was playing gently across his face and he could hear birds singing. He opened his eyes slightly and let some light in. "Hello little Mouse," a voice said nearby, "we've missed you. I opened a window so that you could hear the birds. Spring is coming. But if you're cold I can close it again."

He rolled over and white hot pain stabbed through him, he screamed out and hands were on him soothing him. "Easy, little Mouse," the voice said, "you've broken your arm and it's still tender." The pain ebbed away with excruciating slowness. He finally managed to open his eyes again and found Navarre standing over him. "Hello," said Navarre again, "it's nice to see you."

When Navarre had carried the stricken boy upstairs with Imperius fussing around him he had feared the worst. The boy was finally limp and the whimpering had stopped. Navarre was terribly afraid that they were too late, he knew he should have gone faster.

But Imperius had got to work straight away, bustling around and dishing out his orders to Isabeau and Navarre, sending them scurrying up and down the stairs for water and medicine, his concern for their welfare completely forgotten once he had seen the state of Phillipe. He had insisted that they wake Phillipe straight away to pour some of his vile liquid down his throat, making Navarre haul him into a sitting position to do so. After that he had examined the arm and declared it a clean break. Painful certainly but not life threatening. The wounds on Phillipe's chest were another matter however, they were angry and red again and the boy's fever had returned worse than before. Imperius muttered and tutted and turned on Navarre who was standing behind him, "How has this been allowed to happen?" he demanded.

Navarre bristled. "He ran away," he said angrily.

"Yes, of course," said Imperius, deflating, "I'm sorry Navarre, it's the shock. I thought we'd put this behind us." He looked down at Phillipe's pale face.

"Will he live?" asked Navarre, not really wanting to hear the answer. Imperius was silent for a long time before he eventually turned and looked Navarre in the eye. "He's very young," he said, "it should count in his favour."

The next few hours were agonising. Phillipe vacillated between deathly stillness and feverish writhing. Navarre didn't know which was worse. Phillipe's fevered ramblings were horrifying to listen to, Navarre could only imagine what experiences would lead the boy to have such fearful hallucinations. Then he would be still and deathly quiet and Navarre would start to think that they had finally lost him.

Isabeau was helping to turn Phillipe when she finally saw the scars on his back. She gasped and looked up at Navarre.

"What is this?" she asked, shocked.

Navarre sighed. He had been hoping to avoid this. "He hasn't had an easy life," he said, "he has many scars and old injuries."

Isabeau looked down at Phillipe with horror. "But he's just a boy," she said, "who could do such awful things?"

But there was little time to dwell on uncomfortable thoughts as Imperius kept them busy, applying cooling cloths to Phillipe's brow, mixing pungent ointment which he applied to the boy's chest wounds, bathing his blistered hands and fetching clean blankets. Eventually Imperius announced that they couldn't do anything else and would simply have to wait. He sent them away to sleep, despite their protestations. It wasn't until they stopped that they realised how exhausted they were. Isabeau's face was ashen and drawn, with dark smudges under her eyes. "You must sleep my love," said Navarre, stroking her hair. "I don't know if I can," she said sadly, "what if something happens?" But as soon as they lay down, they both slept immediately and deeply.

After Mouse had woken up properly, Navarre gave him a couple of days before he talked to him about what had happened. He wanted the boy to listen and to understand and he didn't want any traces of fever to muddle his mind. Phillipe woke a week after they had brought him back to the manor to find Navarre sitting by his bed, his face serious and stern.

"We need to talk little Mouse," he said. Phillipe wiggled backwards in bed and pushed himself into a sitting position, careful to use his right arm to push himself up. Navarre regarded him for a moment and then spoke.

"Perhaps you could explain to me," said Navarre, "why we left you safe in bed one moment, to find you gone the next?" He paused, but not long enough to allow the boy to answer, to think of a lie, or deflect the question with a quip.

"Not just gone, he continued, "but in grave danger. With reckless disregard for the people who care about you."

Phillipe squirmed under the penetrating stare and licked his lips nervously.

"I once told you that you were free to go," said Navarre, leaning forwards towards the boy and frowning, "but that was then." His eyes drilled into Phillipe's and he said very slowly and deliberately, "You are no longer free to go."

Phillipe couldn't look away, he'd never felt quite so much like a mouse.

"You will stay in this bed unless instructed otherwise by one of us," said Navarre. "You will not leave this room unless one of us is here," Phillipe blinked with surprise, "you will not leave the house without permission." Navarre fought to keep his voice level, to keep the anger from showing too much. He wanted to scare the boy like the boy had scared them, but only enough to be effective, not to drive him away again.

"God brought all four of us together for a reason." Navarre said, "He gave you to us, you were sent to us and you will not defy God."

Phillipe's eyes widened. His memory of what had happened was hazy but he remembered the demons and the certainty that he was being taken to the devil.

"You will stay here and do as you are told," continued Navarre, his voice low and dangerous, "and don't think that I won't tie you up again if I have to."

He sat back slightly, the boy was starting to look terrified, his eyes had darted to the door, Navarre was afraid that he had gone too far.

He reached out and flicked the boy's shirt open to reveal the wounds on his chest. They had finally started to heal properly, the redness was fading.

"Who did this to you?" Navarre asked. Phillipe looked puzzled. "The..." he started, his mouth dry, "the wolf."

"Me," said Navarre, "I did that to you."

He didn't give Phillipe a chance to respond but leant forward and reached behind Phillipe's neck. He placed his hand at the top of the boy's back and tapped his finger gently.

"Who did this to you?" he asked. Phillipe flushed red and his eyes dropped to the blanket in front of him. He managed a half shrug, humiliated that Navarre had seen the scars on his back. A tear threatened to fall and he swiped it away angrily.

"Look at me," said Navarre gently, "Mouse, look at me."

Phillipe forced his head up and met the clear blue eyes. Eyes that could be so cold and terrifying were now soft and gentle.

"No one," said Navarre, "will ever do this to you," he pointed at Phillipe's chest, "or this to you," he pointed at Phillipe's back, "as long as you live under my protection. Do you understand me?"

Imperius hurried through the door holding breakfast. "Good God Navarre," he said "it's freezing in here. Do you want to finish the boy off? Do you always have to open the window?" He put his tray down, shut the window and started to straighten Phillipe's covers. Putting his hand on Phillipe's forehead he noticed the boy's glassy eyes. "What's wrong boy?" he demanded, "Do you feel ill? I thought we might let you out of bed today."

"I've just been telling our little Mouse that he's stuck with us," said Navarre, finally breaking eye contact with Phillipe.

"Ah," said Imperius sympathetically, "you too little thief? I've been nagged incessantly by Isabeau about living in a draughty castle. It seems we've both been kidnapped."

"Kidnapped?!" exclaimed Isabeau coming in, "I said no such thing."

The chat continued but Phillipe had stopped listening. God wanted them to all be together. He could see that now. Why hadn't he seen that before?

"At least I didn't have a tavern fall onto me," Imperius was saying. Phillipe's ears pricked up.

"It didn't so much as fall on him as spat him out," said Navarre with a grin, causing Imperious to laugh uproariously.

"Only Phillipe Gaston," he guffawed, "could be spat out by an inn!"

Even Isabeau had to try not to laugh, clamping her hand over her mouth to try to repress the giggles.

"Hey!" said Phillipe, looking from one laughing face to the other.

Imperius did indeed let Phillipe get out of bed that day, and then to his horror and embarrassment, made him have a bath. "You smell godawful boy," he said, "smoke and ash and lord knows what else."

He wasn't yet strong enough to fight the old man off and soon found himself being scrubbed clean in front of the fire. He squirmed and wriggled but couldn't get free.

"I'm not trying to drown you boy!" Imperius bellowed, "hold still."

Phillipe screamed in alarm when the door opened but it was only Navarre, coming to see what the fuss was. "Don't let Isabeau in!" Phillipe squeaked desperately and Navarre left chuckling.

"My my," said Isabeau later, when a clean and freshly dressed Phillipe was presented to her, "what a very handsome young man. Who is he and what has he done with our little Mouse?"

Mouse went to sleep that night content and exhausted. The others had taken to spending their evenings in his room in front of the fire and as he drifted off their quiet murmurs were comforting and reassuring. But in the middle of the night he woke suddenly with a feeling of unease. The fire had died down and only Imperius remained, snoring gently in a chair by the hearth. Mouse's heart was thumping in his chest and he didn't know why. The feeling of disquiet would not leave him and sleep eluded him. He lay in the dark fretting about something that he was struggling to remember. He attempted to sit up in bed. He kept forgetting to favour his right arm and it constantly surprised him when his left arm failed him. He managed to prop himself up eventually, breathing raggedly with exertion. But what was it? It took him a long time to remember the terrible thing he had done and when he did, remorse swept over him and unbearable sadness weighed heavy on his heart. It was over. He should have known that happiness never lasted, he'd been a fool to think otherwise.

His health improved daily, to everyone's delight, "I told you," said Imperius, "he is very young. He may well regain all of the strength in that arm. He'll be running us ragged again in no time." But as his strength returned his spirit diminished. He became withdrawn and the sparkle which had started to return to his bright brown eyes seemed to be dulling again. He became listless and quiet. Imperius struggled to explain to Navarre and Isabeau why, if the boy's physical health was getting better, his life force seemed to be waning. Asking him proved fruitless, the boy simply curled into a ball and refused to speak. They cajoled him into simple activities which he complied with, but passively and with obvious sadness. The mood in the manor changed from relief and happiness at his return to tension and heartache at the boy's unhappiness.

Mouse knew that he had to tell them the truth, and then he knew that he would have to leave.

He was in the garden with Navarre when he finally plucked up the courage to tear down his new found life. The weather had been improving and Navarre kept making Phillipe go outside to help him with various chores, sure that the fresh spring air would help him. Navarre was kneeling down, tending to a damaged wall, with Phillipe standing distracted beside him when Phillipe suddenly spoke.

"Sir," he blurted out, "Captain."

"Captain?" said Navarre surprised, looking up.

"I have to leave," said Phillipe, his words tumbling out, "I stole from you, I'm a thief, I'll always be a thief, and a liar. I'm no good, I'll never be any good. It was nice of you to be nice to me but I can't repay you. I'm sorry."

Navarre stood up frowning and Phillipe flinched and took a step back.

"What are you talking about?" asked Navarre, noting the flinch with dismay.

"I took your book," said Phillipe taking another step back away from the big man. "I stole it."

"The Odyssey?" asked Navarre.

"Yes," said Phillipe, "that one, the one you were reading to me. I stole it."

"It was yours," said Navarre, "you could do what you wanted with it."

There was silence. The man and the boy facing each other in the early spring sunshine.

"What?" Phillipe said eventually.

"It was yours," repeated Navarre. "You live here, the things in the house belong to you as well. No one had touched that dusty old book for years. You're the first person for a long time to have shown any interest in it."

"I," said Phillipe, but he couldn't think of anything else to add, "but," he tried, "I stole it," he continued, sure that Navarre hadn't understood.

"I found it in the tavern," said Navarre, "I thought you were dead when I found it."

Phillipe's mouth fell open.

"Were you going to try and read it?" asked Navarre.

"I," said Phillipe stupidly. "Maybe," he added, "one day maybe," he said, "too difficult at the moment, but maybe one day. And.." he trailed off.

"And?" Navarre raised his eyebrows.

"It reminded me of here," said Phillipe. He hadn't meant to say that. He felt silly saying that.

"I brought it back actually," Navarre was saying, "it was a little bit scorched and it got wet but it wasn't too bad. I put it back in the library. I think most of it is still readable. We'll try again if you like. Or we could do The Iliad, that's the war itself. Actually Isabeau probably wouldn't be too happy about that, it's a bit bloody, we'll find something else. Hang on," he said, "did you think that saying you stole it would get you away from us? Well don't think it's going to be that easy. Did you not hear a word I said before? I thought you were starting to trust us."

"Trust you?" said Phillipe, mystified.

"I know you don't really have much reason to," said Navarre, "but I was hoping."

Phillipe felt that the conversation was getting away from him. It wasn't going at all the way he had imagined. In his version Navarre would be violently throwing him out about now.

"But the book," he said plaintively.

"I don't care about the damn book," Navarre snapped. "Now are you helping me with this wall or are you just going to stand there with your mouth open?"

"The boy's spirit is returning," said Imperius with delight a few days later, "I long for the days when he was quiet and still in bed."

"It's nice to have some young life around the place," said Navarre thinking of Élie. Some of Phillipe's antics and cheek would have delighted Élie. A day didn't pass without Imperius being outraged about some insolence or prank played on him by the little thief. They all knew that the old man's annoyance and bluster were nothing but a sham, and that he delighted in being targeted by the boy. The manor rang with his bellows at the lad, but Isabeau and Navarre noticed him chuckling and smiling on many occasions after rebuking the boy for some caper, or for refusing to take his medicine, or for claiming that he couldn't do a certain chore because his arm was hurting.

"That arm," Imperius said, "is starting to be the best thing that ever happened to you Phillipe the Mouse. It gets you out of a lot of unpleasant tasks."

They were just returning from the well when Imperius decided to play a trick of his own. Phillipe was carrying the full bucket in his right hand and walking in front of him when Imperius softly called his name. Phillipe turned to find an apple flying towards his face. Instinctively he caught it with his left hand. "Ah ha!" cried Imperius, "l knew it, you young scoundrel, how long have you been able to move that arm properly?"

Phillipe grinned sheepishly. "It still hurts a bit," he said, "just not as much as it did. Please don't be angry with me Imperius. Imperius?"

But Imperius was no longer looking at him, he was looking past him with a look of growing horror and alarm on his face. Phillipe wheeled round and found himself looking straight up at a pair of enormous horses who had just come to a standstill in front of him and were stamping the ground and snorting out plumes of hot breath. Astride them were two scarlet cloaked Bishop's Guards, their helmets flashing in the morning light. Phillipe cried out and tripped over backwards dropping the bucket. He scrabbled desperately away from the terrifying site and towards Imperius who was standing ashen faced.

"Where is your master?" One of the guards demanded, "Where is Etienne of Navarre?"

Imperius pulled Phillipe upright by the front of his tunic and hissed, "Go and fetch Navarre."

Phillipe's feet seemed to be made of lead as he blundered blindly towards the manor. He met Navarre half way, striding grim faced towards him, and practically fell into his arms. Navarre grabbed the panic stricken boy by his shoulders and leaned down to look him in the eye.

"Go into the house Phillipe," he said, "and stay there."

Phillipe stumbled on and met Isabeau just coming out of the door, her face fearful. "Go indoors Phillipe," she said.

"But?" he panted.

"Now," said Isabeau and her tone brooked no argument.

Phillipe fled indoors and raced up the stairs to the window in his bedroom which overlooked the garden. Navarre had reached the men on horseback and had positioned himself between them and Imperius.

Isabeau arrived and stood next to her husband, her chin jutting forward in defiance. She turned briefly and spoke to Imperius who tottered off towards the house.

"Phillipe," he shouted, "as he hurried up the stairs, "where are you boy?"

"I'm here," Phillipe called, and Imperius bustled in to him.

"They're just talking boy, just talking," said Imperius putting his arm round him but Phillipe could hear the panic still in the old man's voice.

"What about?" said Phillipe weakly.

"There is a new Bishop," said Imperius, "he wants to see Navarre."

The four of them were sitting at the old wooden table in the kitchen. The two guards had left after speaking to Navarre.

"We knew this would happen eventually," Navarre was saying, "one cannot expect to kill a holy man and face no consequences."

"That was no holy man," Imperius spat, "he was in league with the devil."

"We know that, but the new Bishop may not," said Navarre patiently.

"We don't owe them an explanation," said Isabeau.

"Isabeau," said Navarre softly, taking her hands in his, "they know where we are, we cannot live as fugitives. Not now, not now we are all together. He just wants to talk. I will set out in the morning, I'll be a day, two at the most. Nothing will happen."

"Why can't we all go?" asked Phillipe sadly, "you said we all belonged together. You said it's what God wanted."

"I know," said Navarre, reaching over and gently cupping Phillipe's face, "we do. But I have to do this alone."

"He needs to go Mouse," said Isabeau with a bravery she did not feel, "don't worry, he'll be back."

The three of them all stood together in the grey light of dawn and watched as Navarre galloped away. Isabeau stood staring long after he had disappeared completely into the distance. Imperius put his hands onto Phillipe's shoulders and steered him back into the manor leaving Isabeau alone.

He found the boy later, staring listlessly out of his bedroom window towards the gate.

"It would please Navarre no end," said Imperius, "if you brushed up on your reading."

Phillipe started guiltily, "I can't read," he lied automatically.

"Well Navarre said that you could," said Imperius.

"He shouldn't have said that," said Phillipe, "because I can't."

Imperius handed him a book that he had selected from the library.

"I'm not a child," said Phillipe with disgust looking down at it.

"How did you know it was a children's book?" asked Imperius smugly, "because you could read the title, that's why."

"It's got a picture of a fairy on it," said Phillipe. Imperius glowered and flicked the book open.

"Read," he commanded.

"I can't," said Phillipe.

"Navarre thinks you can."

"I said that to impress him."

Imperius studied the boy's face.

"Phillipe," he said, "I know you can read. Are you embarrassed? I don't understand, you should be proud."

"I can't read, said Phillipe, "reading is a sin."

Imperius couldn't believe his ears.

"Who told you that?" he exclaimed.

"Of course it's not a sin."

"It's a sin for people like me," said Phillipe.

"That's, that's not true," stuttered the priest, but he knew full well that many important people felt exactly that. He'd known priests and lords who would punish any peasant who dared to try and read and write, to act as a warning to others not to get above their station. They didn't want the downtrodden getting any ideas.

"Did someone stop you from reading?" asked Imperius.

"I can't read," said Phillipe shortly and handed the book back to Imperius.

"But Phillipe," cried Imperius to his departing back, "it is a gift from God."

He fared no better with Isabeau who was in the stable brushing Lilou. She made it crystal clear that she was in no mood for cheery conversation and Imperius eventually retreated in defeat.

Left alone to fret, Imperius decided to clean Navarre's armour. Carefully taking it piece by piece from the case he transported it down to the kitchen table and started to polish it. It didn't take long for Phillipe to wander in to see what the clanking was about. He sat down next to the priest and taking up a cloth he started rubbing aimlessly at a piece of armour.

"Sorry," he muttered quietly under his breath. Imperius glanced sideways at the shamefaced boy. "It's alright to be worried little Mouse," he said, "but there is nothing to worry about. Aquila was a good place once and it will be again." He prayed he was right.

Isabeau arrived not long after and joined in wordlessly. She reached out a hand and touched Imperius's arm lightly. He smiled warmly at her, no words were needed. He knew how great her pain was.

They all worked quietly and diligently for hours until the armour was shining and they were all dirty and exhausted. Imperius made up the fire and fashioned Phillipe a nest of blankets in front of the hearth. He made him eat some thin broth but didn't attempt to make Isabeau eat anything. Phillipe eventually drifted off and Isabeau and Imperius sat silently at the table, waiting.

When the fire was merely embers and grey light was seeping into the kitchen, Isabeau was the only one still awake. She was used to the night and it brought her an odd sort of comfort. Imperius was snoring with his head on the kitchen table and Mouse was snug and quiet, just a tuft of dark hair indicating that he was there at all. She flinched at every slight noise, convinced it was the sound of a distant horse. When she did eventually hear hooves outside she had convinced herself that it was her mind playing tricks, until the sound became unmistakable. She hurtled out of the kitchen, waking a bemused Imperius with a start.

By the time Navarre had dismounted Isabeau was on him, clutching his face desperately and planting kisses all over it. Imperius and Phillipe had arrived just behind her, and Imperius clasped his hand over the boy's eyes. "Hey," said a sleepy Phillipe, "what's going on?"

"Nothing for you to worry about," said Imperius gruffly.

He eventually released him and they were all united in a circle like that blessed day in the cathedral. Navarre was smiling and looking at them all. "Well?" he asked, "where's my breakfast. There's a lot that we need to talk about."

They cleared the armour from the table, with Navarre admiring every piece that Phillipe held up for his inspection. "I did this bit," he was saying proudly, "took me ages."

Isabeau ruffled his hair and said with a laugh, "is that so Mouse?"

"I see you kept busy," said Navarre.

"Hardly noticed you'd gone," said Imperius.

They sat to listen to what Navarre had to say, with Imperius busying himself fetching food and drink for the table.

The new Bishop was a good man, said Navarre, a kind and holy man. He'd heard rumours about the old Bishop's evil and corruption and hadn't really been surprised when he'd heard the news coming out of Aquila that the Bishop had been killed by his ex Captain of the guard. "Very Roman," the new Bishop had murmured. The full story of Isabeau and the curse had come to him via Navarre's old comrades, once they had decided that he was trustworthy. They also told him of the rise of Marquet, a favourite of the old Bishop, a bully and a sadist, who delighted in his new found power over the life and death of the citizens. The new Bishop was horrified and made it his mission to drive out any who had been loyal to the old Bishop or Marquet. The people who had been in the cathedral on the day of the miracle had told the Bishop of their joy at what they had witnessed, and so the Bishop had made enquiries about the man who had saved both his love, and the city from evil. Navarre paused in his tale.

"Tell us my love," said Isabeau, "what did he say?" She guessed what he had said and she knew that Navarre was anxious and nervous to tell them.

"He wants me back as Captain of the guard," said Navarre quickly, "He said he needed a good man."

"Navarre that's wonderful," said Imperius immediately. Phillipe had dropped his head and was staring at the table, tracing his thumb nail back and forth across the wood.

"I didn't give him an answer," said Navarre hastily, "I told him I'd need to think about it. Discuss it with all of you."

He looked around the table.

"I made it clear," he pushed on, "that I had certain conditions that needed to be met for me to even consider it. I told him that there would be four of us, my wife, our priest and our ward."

"Your priest?" said Imperius gravely. "Does this mean that you are you trusting me to take your confessions again?"

"Of course we trust you," said Isabeau, leaning over the table to take his hand, "who else is going to be our priest? Who else knows as quite as well as you?"

Imperius nodded, unable suddenly to speak and squeezed Isabeau's hand.

"Guiscard was there," Navarre continued, "my old sergeant, do you remember Isabeau? A good man, a loyal man. He was exiled from the city when he refused to follow Marquet, he was lucky to escape with his life. But he's back now and loyal to the new Bishop."

"I remember Guiscard," said Isabeau with a smile.

"There is a house Isabeau," said Navarre, "Guiscard took me to see it. A beautiful house. For the captain of the guard and his family. On the outskirts of the city, enough rooms for us all, stables for the horses and Abraham, and a garden of our own. Flowers and so many trees. It will be so beautiful in the summer. And there are beehives Isabeau!"

Phillipe's head snapped up, "bees?"

he asked in surprise.

"Yes Phillipe," said Navarre, "bees. We can have our own honey."

"Bees," said Phillipe in a faraway voice. Navarre looked at him quizzically.

"Did Marquet live in the house?" asked Isabeau with a frown.

"No, no," said Navarre quickly. "It's a present from the Bishop. When he heard there would be four of us he said he had the perfect place. It's his gift to us. To make restitution I think for what we have suffered. All of us."

He looked around the table at their faces. Imperius, damp eyed and smiling. Isabeau, glowing with expectation and Phillipe, still staring down at the table, quiet and unreadable.

"Even if I agree to the post," he said, "I told them that if it didn't work, then we would need to be free to go. We can come back here."

He stopped and waited for their reaction.

"Isabeau?" he asked. Isabeau turned her beautiful face towards him and smiled. "It sounds wonderful," she said and she meant it. Her misgivings had been swept away by his enthusiasm and his sweet insistence on getting assurances for all of them. A house and garden of their own, in the city but away from the city. She knew what getting his old command back meant to him. She knew how seriously he took his honour. It sounded perfect.

Navarre smiled with relief and turned to Imperius. "Father?" he asked.

"I would go with you to the ends of the earth my son," said the old priest in a thick voice and Navarre reached over to take his hand.

Navarre turned to Phillipe last. He knew this would be the most difficult conversation. The boy had no happy memories of Aquila to rely on. He would have to trust Navarre's word that the city had changed, and Navarre didn't know if he had done enough yet to deserve that trust.

"Phillipe?" he asked.

"What's a ward?" said Phillipe.

"It means you are under my protection little Mouse," said Navarre, "like I told you."

Phillipe seemed to be considering this.

"We can come back?" asked the boy, "if we don't like it?"

"Yes," said Navarre, "it was one of my conditions."

"What if just one of us doesn't like it?" he asked, his eyes still fixed on the table top.

"We all have to like it," said Navarre, "or we come back."

"But the food is running out here," said Phillipe, "what would we eat if we came back?" Navarre raised his eyebrows, the boy really didn't miss a thing.

"There will be food in the summer," said Navarre, "we'll get the manor up and running properly and we will store it. We won't go hungry."

"Did you hang a lot of people like me when you were the Captain of the guard?" asked Phillipe.

Navarre was thrown momentarily. He knew this would be tricky but the boy had a way of catching him unawares.

"I hanged some criminals," he said after a brief hesitation, "but not for petty offences."

"Navarre was always a fair and just Captain," said Imperius with slight irritation.

"It's all right Imperius," said Navarre calmly, "Phillipe is entitled to know what my job entailed, what it may entail again. My job was to protect the city and the people. I was never asked to do anything against my conscience until," he paused, choosing his words carefully, "until

the Bishop's love of power overwhelmed him."

Phillipe was silent for a moment. Navarre held his breath.

"Can we take some of the books from the library with us?" he asked.

"Yes of course," said Navarre, his voice breaking slightly, "as many as you want."

Navarre sent word to Aquila that their answer was yes a few days later when a messenger came from the city. Then they set about packing and readying themselves.

"Phillipe," said Navarre, "does that look like a shoulder piece to you?"

Phillipe looked down at the piece of armour he was holding.

"Um," he said, "well it might be."

"It's a leg piece Phillipe," said Navarre, "try again."

Phillipe put it gently onto the floor and picked up another piece of gleaming armour.

"This one?" he asked.

"That one," said Navarre, smiling.

Phillipe had wanted to know where all of the pieces went and Navarre was trying to teach him. He thought it would fill the time before they left and keep Phillipe from fretting about Aquila. He just hadn't reckoned on how much time it would fill. He'd been standing up for what seemed like an age now whilst Phillipe decided which bit to put on him next.

"Now strap it onto my shoulder," said Navarre patiently, "that's it, buckle up the straps. Bit tighter so that it doesn't fall off."

Phillipe's look of concentration was quite something and Navarre fought the urge to laugh. Phillipe's tongue was sticking slightly out of the side of his mouth and his eyes were fixed on his task. Navarre had been dressed by many squires in his life but none so dedicated to doing as good a job as Phillipe. Most squires were trained from an early age and took their duties in their stride, almost casually. Phillipe on the other hand was treating the job with a reverence that Navarre found sweetly affecting. He doubted whether anyone had ever given the boy any responsibility and now that he had it Phillipe was determined to do his best.

"Good," said Navarre, "nearly finished."

Phillipe stood back to study the result so far.

"You're an excellent squire," said Navarre, thinking that if Phillipe ever did have to dress him for battle, the war would likely be over before he was ready.

Phillipe beamed with pride and the tips of his ears went pink.

On a bright spring morning a few days later they assembled in the yard to start their journey.

"If you put anything else onto this cart," Imperius snapped at Phillipe, "you'll have to pull it and Abraham can ride in it."

Phillipe ignored him and popped a few more books into the cart.

"You cannot take the whole library," Imperius continued. "and anyway I will expect you to read all of those. And then I expect you to learn to write. I've longed to have a student to teach."

Phillipe rolled his eyes.

"I saw that," said Imperius, "when you're my student there won't be any cheek. There's a bright mind in that fool head of yours and I'm not going to let that go to waste. I'll make a scholar of you yet."

"I'm not going to be your student," said Phillipe, "I'd rather fall down a well."

Navarre cleared his throat. He and Isabeau were mounted and waiting for the bickering to finish.

"When you're quite ready," he said.

"I'm ready," said Imperius, "it's this fool of a boy. Why you told him he could take what he wanted I will never know."

He picked up a book with a picture of a fairy stamped in gold onto the leather cover and waved it at Phillipe.

"Oh I see," he said, "I thought you weren't a child."

"Navarre's going to read that one to you at night," said Phillipe, climbing onto the cart, "to send you to sleep."

"You young.." said Imperius but Navarre had cleared his throat again.

"Shall we?" he asked them smiling, "it would be nice to set off at some stage. We need to be half way by sundown so that we can stop for the night."

"I've been ready for ages," said Phillipe.

Imperius shoved him so hard that he fell off of the cart. Imperius flapped the reins and Abraham started off with Navarre and Isabeau riding slightly ahead and laughing. Phillipe caught up before they reached the gate and jumped onto the cart.

"I don't have to take this," he muttered, "I'm a young man, I've got prospects."

Navarre turned to look lovingly at the radiant, laughing face of his wife. The woman he thought he'd never see again. Who he wouldn't have seen again if it hadn't been for a drunken old priest and a little thief. He wondered what Élie would make of his strange new life, of his strange new family. He was sure that Élie would be most amused, but also happy for him. For all of them.


End file.
